


company

by lovelyspiral



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Crossdressing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mild Language, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyspiral/pseuds/lovelyspiral
Summary: If Atlas had ever had to hold up Izaya, as if Izaya were the world, he would've crumbled instantly. (Shizuo and Izaya strike a deal: 'freedom' for 'love.')





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KanraNee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanraNee/gifts).



The longer Shizuo waits, the less real it feels -- like he’s imagined the whole fucking thing. 

He finishes his last smoke, attempts to look everywhere,  _ anywhere _ but his watch. Taps his foot. Checks his hair. Rubs his glasses against his shirt -- sees his anxious expression clearly gazing back at him, and remembers. 

He remembers the red print of embarrassment on his own face, the slyness of Izaya’s words coiling around him. The thick feeling in his throat -- like a plume of cigarette smoke, stuck -- dredges up an old memory of Kasuka. Shizuo’s not sure what’s worse: the feeling, Izaya, or the fact that he’s bringing  _ Kasuka  _ into the situation. It’s too much.

At age six, Kasuka had unexpectedly voiced a simple wish: to go to the zoo. They’d gotten to hold a python, and Shizuo stood stiffly and carefully as it laid languidly across their necks and in their hands. He’d thought it’d be wet, for some reason, but it was dry and smooth. Utterly unlike what he’d unexpected, unlike anything he’d ever met before. Even on their way home, Shizuo thought about how it’d felt in his hands, the feeling lingering even when he wiped his hands on his pants. 

Izaya’s words were like that.  _ Izaya _ himself was like that. Even after seven years, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out the flea. Even after seven years, he can’t wash his hands of what Izaya leaves behind. 

He’s going to wonder, the longer he stands in the biting cold, that he doesn’t  _ want  _ to. 

“Shizuo!”

The usual stench -- Shizuo can’t smell it. Instead, Izaya Orihara smells like  _ honey _ , casually standing before Shizuo and peering up at him through thick false lashes. “Hi, Shizuo.” 

Izaya’s voice is soft, shy. If he hadn’t been hearing that same voice yap at him for years, he wouldn’t have been able to place it. 

He almost chokes out  _ Izaya, wait _ when thin arms are thrown around his neck.  Thin, thin arms that hold the weight of the world. If Atlas had ever had to hold up Izaya, as if Izaya were the world,  he would’ve crumbled instantly. 

“I didn’t,” Shizuo struggles to find words. “You were serious?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? And so am I,” Izaya says. He sounds amused, but Shizuo just stares, not really able to place that this was actually happening. 

_ Give me freedom for just a couple of days, and I’ll give you the love you’ve been wanting! Shh, shh, Shizu-chan, don’t yell -- don’t you see? I can practice my cover and still play with you! But this game is more exciting, isn’t it? You wouldn’t hit a girl! Well, not on purpose -- hey, hey! This is like practice for you too, you know! Maybe we can make you human! Won’t it be nice to have someone close for once? Right, Shizu-chan? _

_ Right?  _

Izaya’s words are coming back to him, filtering through the roaring in his head. Shizuo tries to speak, but there’s a python around his neck, surely squeezing him to death.

_ So much for being the strongest man in ‘bukuro, getting sick like this.  _

There’s a brief touch of lips against his;  Shizuo jolts, and Izaya’s arms tighten. 

“I’m Kanra today,” Izaya murmurs, a soft reminder from a sharp mouth. “And I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Don’t lose it, Shizu-chan. We’re not fighting, remember? I’m your girlfriend, and we’re going dancing.” 

Shizuo blinks a bit, tries to piece together Izaya’s swimming features. He’s _ trying _ to put it together, Izaya-and-Kanra-and-Izaya, but the lights of the city are suddenly too damn bright. He grips Izaya’s wrist, squints into his face. Dark, overdrawn lips -- faint powder, used to slim an already slender face  -- curving eyeliner and mascara and contacts -- 

There hasn’t been a game like this before. Running is easy: all he has to do is keep going straight until his legs -- or Izaya’s -- give out, but facing Izaya head-on is always messy. 

" Shizuo?” Izaya says innocently. “Our  _ deal? _ ” A familiar voice pitched too high. 

_ I want to call it off, I don’t know why I said yes, you tricked me  _ rests in his throat, waiting, curling up in anticipation, but he can’t say any of it. Maybe he needs medicine, and that brings thoughts of his mom, leaving medicine and milk on his nightstand -- the pounding in his head suddenly gets a lot worse. He needs to run. Needs to let it all out. His eyes drop past the wrist he’s holding, to Izaya’s feet. 

Izaya’s hand is held flat against his chest; between Shizuo’s ribs rages a storm. That twisted smile is on Izaya’s face -- the face that looks so much like him but not at all -- and Izaya breathes, “It’ll be  _ fun, _ Shizuo.” 

Shizuo breathes harshly, squeezing his eyes shut. He lets go of Izaya’s wrist. Turns away. Holds his own hand to his chest, feels his heart thudding. 

“Shizuo?” 

_ Stop. Just stop, because I don’t know what’s happening. _

He can’t ignore the line of Izaya’s lips, the stray hairs slipping out from under the wig, the Adam’s apple under the artfully placed choker -- damn flea needed a fucking haircut -- 

Izaya’s stepping closer, hands slipping up under his shirt with a touch of fire, and Shizuo  _ sees  _ himself choking out an  _ okay _ , sees Celty, Kadota, Kasuka, Erika -- all of them, they’ve been settling down and exchanging diamonds. Sees himself with only Izaya's cold, plain metal rings against his skin. Sees Izaya’s face glitch and morph into someone new. 

_ But in the end, isn’t it still always you? _

“It’ll be fun, Shizuo.” Izaya --  _ Kanra,  _ Shizuo thinks with a strangled intensity -- repeats, yanking him back to the present, pulling the fire from his chest to clasp their hands together. Whatever that had made him agree before is riling up again, burning through his chest. Shizuo thinks of pythons around his neck and knives slashing through his shirt. Dumbly, he looks down at their joined hands, nods before his eyes widen. 

_ Those rings --  _

The rings are gone. He blinks, startled, thinks he sees them; something akin to -- relief? -- floods through him, but then he blinks again, and there’s nothing there after all. How did he get that feeling of ‘something familiar’ upon looking at their hands? What did it matter if Izaya wore his rings or not?

Change and Izaya -- it’s not something he’s used to. 

Sullenly, Shizuo acknowledges that Izaya is a constant in his life. He tries to be logical like Tom, tries to follow the steps that led him and Izaya down this path, but somewhere, somehow, everything got all muddled. It’s then that Izaya --  _ Kanra _ \-- tugs at his hand impatiently, and he follows her into the bar mutely. Logic would have to wait. 

_ Maybe I’m under a spell -- _

Even as the thought flashes through his head, he scoffs at himself. 

“Won’t you dance with me?” Izaya --  _ fuck, he’s got to remember -- _ says, barely heard above the pulsing music. “Move, Shizuo.”

_ Shizuo. _

With just one word, they’ve been transported to an alien world: a world where they were ‘Shizuo’ and ‘Kanra,’ not ‘Shizu-chan’ and ‘Izaya.’ The longer Shizuo keeps his eyes on the mouth smirking on him, the more the lines blur together. 

Why is Izaya doing this? Why, after all these years? What made him say those words? 

_ Love, _ he’d said. 

Since Shizuo was young, ‘love’ was a word often dwelled upon. Recently, it’s something he pushes to the back of his mind, but when he was younger -- when he met Izaya -- the guy’d always liked to blab about human love. 

When Izaya had first kissed him, in a classroom long emptied, Shizuo had asked, “What kind of love is this?” 

“Oh, Shizu-chan,” Izaya had said, “this isn’t love.”

He hadn’t said anything after that, no matter how many times they kept circling back to each other, and accepted it as just another kind of fighting. 

But now, Izaya was wearing heels and a dress, practicing his best feminine mannerisms and calling Shizuo his boyfriend, in the name of ‘love’ for ‘freedom.’ 

_ You said it, not me,  _ Shizuo wants to point out.  _ So what do you mean? _

“Shizuo.” Izaya’s mouth brushes against his again, sending electricity down to his toes. “Play along, won’t you?” 

Something twists in his chest, gives way. Atlas’s arms -- Shizuo’s arms -- fall, and the world crushes them. It’s like the  _ yes _ that had wrenched free from his mouth is here again, turning Izaya into something else. 

Turns Izaya into Kanra, into another chance. 

Each time with them, it’s ‘different.’ Shizuo could kiss Izaya for the rest of his life and never, never get used to the shock it gives him. 

“Shizuo,” Kanra says. 

“Why’d we have to come dancing,” Shizuo mutters as he lifts his arm, lets Kanra spin under it. She moves smoothly, her dress fanning out around her, brushing against Shizuo’s legs. The smell of honey is heavy in the air. 

“You’re having too much fun with this,” Shizuo adds, but Kanra covers his mouth with a quick _ shh,  _ and her laugh bores into his skin like acid. 

“Next time,” Shizuo says, “we’re doing something else,” and Kanra laughs again, twirls into his chest, keeping Shizuo’s arms around her. They stand like that, tangled together, entwined by their shallow breaths, before Kanra murmurs, “Think they’d let you make me a drink?”

“Nah,” Shizuo says. “It’s been a long time, anyway.” 

“I like whiskey,” Kanra says. 

Shizuo swallows, nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Izaya likes wine best. 

Kanra doesn’t comment on his dancing, but Shizuo finds himself impressed with her. She’s completely at ease with her surroundings, a quality he’s never had.When her feet hurt, she leans against the bar, chatting up a storm with the bartender, but still sends sly winks to Shizuo. He wonders if this is part of the job already, but shakes his head, as if to send any reminders of Izaya Orihara away. 

(and yet the name tasted sweet on his tongue)

Once Kanra gets bored of the club, she drags him out by the arm, chattering a mile a minute. She pauses when droplets splash down on her hair and cheeks; her fingers comes away white when she touches her face. 

“Aw, there goes my makeup,” Kanra pouts, lifting her arms above her head. “But this is romantic, right?” 

“D’you want my jacket?” Shizuo says gruffly, and it makes Kanra --  _ Izaya, _ Shizuo thinks involuntarily, with something like a pull in his ribs -- light up. 

(two boys sharing a jacket under a summer rain)

She allows him to drape the jacket around her, looks pleased. Her lipstick has faded, but her smile is no less radiant. 

“Walk me home,” Kanra says, fingers feather-soft against Shizuo’s cheek. 

Against his own will, he remembers calluses, turns her hands over until he finds them. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest, isn’t sure why it’s so important -- 

_ (I don’t want you to turn into someone else)  _

\-- and belatedly realizes, “You used your fingernails.” 

Kanra smiles, taps his cheek again. Her nails are some girly pastel color. Like pink cotton candy, maybe, but a little lighter. Shizuo takes her hand again, inspects the nails. They’re glued on. 

“Don’t ruin it,” Kanra says cheerfully, pulling Shizuo’s jacket’s sleeves over her palms. Shizuo ends up walking her to the train station, like he doesn’t know she’s going to take it to Shinjuku, pull off her wig, and become Izaya Orihara again. 

It makes something constrict in his chest. He wants her to stay. 

“Did you have fun?” Kanra says softly, prodding his forehead. In her heels, she’s almost his height. Her expression is light, relaxed, the complete opposite of what Shizuo’s feeling right now. 

Shizuo pushes her hand away, brushes against the calluses. “Shut up.” 

“Shizuo,” Kanra pouts. “I’m Kanra! I’m cute; you like me. Don't be so mean."

_ You trust me  _ is what she's saying.  _ Play with me.  _

“It’s just easier this way,” Shizuo forces the words out through his teeth. “Property damages and all.”

_ This isn’t love  _ is what he’s saying. 

“Shizuo,” Kanra says softly. “Shizuo, please.” 

All at once, guilt waves over him. It’s like a fucking tsunami, because they’ve always been like this -- one extreme or another. Both? Can they be both? Can they be balanced? The bastard’s trapped him, and there’s nothing Shizuo can do about it. Not when Izaya’s standing here  _ in his jacket.  _

Not when Izaya’s  _ Kanra _ , someone who’s holding his hand and pulling him in like she’s a fucking black hole and kissing him soft and slow and satisfied. 

He can feel sharp nails and calluses and his heart pounding against his chest. 

_ But what about the person before me?  _

“Ne, aren’t you happy? On a date with a pretty girl.” Kanra grins with an undercurrent of something sharp, and Shizuo chuckles darkly. 

“I wouldn’t say just pretty.”

“You’d say beautiful, right?” Kanra crows, puts her arms around him. 

_ Atlas’s burden.  _

“Do you want me to be some other way?”

“What?” Shizuo steps back, tries to find a clue in her face. He’s never been able to read the face before him, but fuck if he won’t try. 

“I’ll be anything Shizuo wants!” Kanra sings, clapping her hands over her eyes. She peeks through her fingers, giggling. “I’ll be beautiful, just for you! But you have to tell me!” 

Even as Shizuo looks at the contacts, hears the falsely pitched voice, he knows what he wants. 

He wants to kiss Izaya, bare cheekbones, bare lips, wants to tangle his fingers in short dark hair, wants to  _ feel  _ something other than Kanra’s armor of layered dresses. 

Wants to know if Izaya’s heart was slamming against his chest, too. 

The  _ yes _ that had torn through his chest was for the person who’d always stayed close, whose arms had crossed the distance. 

“Hey,” Kanra says thoughtfully, “I don’t have to leave just yet. You look like you want me to stay.”

“The train --” 

“Let’s go somewhere. You can choose,” Kanra talks over him, still peering up through her fingers. He’d say she looked shy, almost, if her smile wasn’t so twisted. 

“Are you hungry?” Shizuo says. 

“Starving!” Kanra yells, throwing her arms in the air. “Let’s go!”

At Shizuo’s insistence, they get pastries from a late-night bakery. Shizuo picks strawberry and Kanra picks apricot. 

“We switched,” Kanra says. 

“Hm?” Shizuo speaks around a mouthful of strawberry. “What?”

“Me, I’m like the strawberry.” Kanra gestures towards her dark lips. “And I’m sweet! And you’re like an apricot cause of your hair.”

“That’s orange,” Shizuo states, confused, and she shrugs, grinning. 

“It’s light enough! If you got blueberry, it’d be like your glasses.”

“Do you always make these kind of comparisons?” 

“You’ll get to know me soon enough,” Kanra says lightly, and before Shizuo can figure out what she means, she drags him up to a rooftop. “To stargaze,” Kanra proposes, but instead, Shizuo finds himself far too preoccupied with her antics. Heels are something Shizuo doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t want her to fall as she paces by the edge. 

Kanra pivots, flashes him a sly smile. “Don’t nights like these make you feel -- well -- immortal?” 

“You sound like a guy I know,” Shizuo smirks. “Real character.”

“Sounds like an interesting person. I’d like to meet him -- Shizuo, maybe he’s a better date than you!” 

“Shut up. These nights makes me feel old,” Shizuo admits, stepping a bit closer to her. He puts out his hand; she takes it, beaming. “That we’re still fooling around like this.” 

He can the night come to a quiet: the  _ still  _ echoes in his ears, and he sucks in a breath, futilely hopes she didn’t notice -- 

“Ne, is the theme ‘childhood sweethearts’ today?” Kanra chuckles. She kicks off her heels, puts her feet on Shizuo’s. “Fits the ‘invincible, immortal’ feeling, right? It’s always that way when you’re alone.” 

“I’d have to disagree,” Shizuo says. “So please excuse me.”

Kanra laughs. “No, like -- up here, the world is yours. You know?” 

“I don’t,” Shizuo admits. 

“That’s because you grew up with a childhood sweetheart,” Kanra teases, changing her expression to something saintly. “You’ve always had someone to hold your hand and walk you through.” 

“Hey,” Shizuo says. “Do you think childhood sweethearts ever fought on rooftops like these?” 

“Sure,” Kanra says. “It makes their love strong!” 

“Would one of them carry bandaids in their pockets?” Shizuo puts his arms around her waist and begins to move, slowly, keeping his eyes on her feet. “And put them on the other one once they fell asleep.”

(he’d thought it’d been a petal until he sat up, and it stayed, lopsided against his cheek) 

“Maybe,” Kanra hums, and he feels her forehead bump against his as she, too, moves to watch their feet travel in a careful box. “And one of them, hmm, maybe he’s got a secret past? So it comes back up and he has to leave, only to return years later when his sweetheart’s ready to move on! Something like that -- there’s always something.” 

“That’s silly.” Shizuo lifts a hand to brush Kanra’s cheek, thinks of a gentle pressure against his cheek and a quiet  _ sleep well, brute.  _

“You’re silly,” Kanra says softly. “Stupid Shizuo.” 

“Yeah,” Shizuo agrees. “But you are too.”

“Ne, not as much as you.”

“More,” Shizuo says. Chews his lip. Looks at the reddish-brown burning through the black contacts. 

Kisses the one before him, takes what he can until it all spills over. Hands wind through his hair and there’s a body flush against his. 

But then Kanra’s eyes open. She smiles, and it twists like a knife under his ribs. 

“I can’t do this,” Shizuo realizes. “I’m not gonna last another second.”

“Surely you have at least an ounce of imagination,” Kanra says dryly. “I don’t like making deals with untrustworthy people, ne? Don’t tell me you’re going to throw me off this roof.”

“Ironic, but also, no,” Shizuo says bluntly. “I’ll ask you out the right way.”

Kanra blinks, and begins to laugh. It’s Izaya’s voice, and hearing it sends something warm coursing through him. 

It’s something Shizuo never thought he’d miss. It’s something he never thought he’d  _ notice,  _ but he knows that it sounds different from their Raijin days, once Izaya’s voice got deeper and smoother but somehow kept its cocky lilt. It’s familiar, it’s Izaya, it’s making him go crazy -- it’s just how his life is.

“Stop laughing and take out your stupid contacts,” Shizuo mutters. “I want you.” 

“I’m guessing acting doesn’t run in the family, then.” Izaya’s taking out the contacts, though, wiping off his makeup on his sleeve. He looks up at Shizuo, plain-faced, and cracks a grin. 

“I want  _ you _ to say my name,” Shizuo demands hoarsely. “You, Izaya. Not you under some stupid fucking pretense.” 

“You say that,” Izaya says, “like I should’ve known. That I didn’t need an excuse.” 

_ We’ve always used an excuse  _ hangs in the air between them. When they were at Raijin, they’d both accepted it as ‘something that happened,’ something that slipped through the cracks. Cowards, the pair of them. 

“What does it matter now?” Shizuo asks. Izaya’s looking at him with an unreadable expression, but his lips are slanted up so Shizuo hopes Izaya’s happy -- not the weird, twisted kind of happy. Izaya’s lips are still stained a faint red. 

“This is why I hate you,” Izaya hums. “You didn’t like my game, Shizuo?” 

Shizuo’s about to snarl, but then he stalls, stares. “You--” 

“Shizuo,” Izaya says again, and Shizuo feels his heart lurch in his chest. He can’t even think about how lonely he is, not with this warmth flooding through his body. Not with how gently Izaya’s looking at him despite his previous words, not with how his eyes are shining. 

_ We’ve both wanted this for a really long time, huh?  _

“Say it again.” Shizuo says. “Don’t pretend, just say it again --”

“Shizuo,” Izaya whispers, and it tastes like everything he’s always wanted. 

Like home. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the beautiful kanra-nee's prompt! i hope you like it, dear! she makes stunning art at kanra-nee.tumblr.com (including a piece for my one-shot, jump!)


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